


Bounty Bingo

by GracefulLeopard



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Crack, Gen, Humor, Phil and Techno are agents of chaos, Piglin Hybrid Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Pyromaniac!Phil is something I didn't know I needed but here he is, This was supposed to be all crack but there's some seriousness thrown in, Winged Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-24 01:48:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30064809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GracefulLeopard/pseuds/GracefulLeopard
Summary: Techno is enjoying his peaceful afternoon when Phil slaps down a stack of papers in front of him.“Plans for world domination or for the next project?” he asks.Phil sits heavily in the chair across from him, picking up a paper from the top of the pile. “Project. I want to build an automatic witch farm, and while I could grind in the mines for two weeks…” he trails off, looking up at Techno meaningfully.Techno can feel his eyebrow raise, even though he tries to hide it behind a poker face. “Who’s turn is it to get the bounty?”-Or: Techno and Phil commit crimes, claim bounties, and play bingo
Relationships: Technoblade (Dream SMP) & Philza Minecraft (Dream SMP)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 141





	Bounty Bingo

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a conversation on the Chasing Stardust discord of Phil claiming his own bounty after his hardcore death. It quickly spiraled into more.
> 
> (Seriously, this was supposed to be no more than 3k words of crack but instead it's almost 10k and it ran away from me.)
> 
> This is unbetad, so apologies for any mistakes.
> 
> CW: violence, blood, death

Techno is enjoying his peaceful afternoon, reading by the fireplace and idly snacking on some fruits when Phil slaps down a stack of papers in front of him.

The stack is almost as thick as the book of Greek myths he’s reading, Techno notes, glancing up at his friend.

“Plans for world domination or for the next project?” he asks, taking a bite of an apple slice.

Phil sits heavily in the chair across from him, picking up a paper from the top of the pile. “Project.” He holds out a hand without looking up from the words on the page. Techno places two slices in his palm. “I want to build an automatic witch farm, and while I _could_ grind in the mines for two weeks…” he trails off, looking up at Techno meaningfully.

Techno can feel his eyebrow raise, even though he tries to hide it behind a poker face. “Who’s turn is it to get the bounty?”

“Yours.”

That doesn’t sound right. “No, last time was mine, you had to break me out of that underground bunker prison, remember?” He remembers that one well; their drainage system was pathetic. His boots still have stains on them from the dirty water and, even though he knows that they’re drained and dry, he still feels like they squish when he walks.

His words make Phil chuckle. “You’re wrong, mate. It was last month. You were mad at me because I burned down a whole city block and got to check off ‘arson’.” Phil smirks at him, leaning back and crossing his arms. “I have a whole row completed now.”

Oh, right. Now that he’s been reminded, Techno recalls finding his friend standing in front of the smoldering remains of buildings, Phil laughing maniacally as embers swirled around his form. His face had been smeared with ash, his wings darkened with soot as he threw them and his arms out to the sides, basking in the heat of the flames, eyes alight with glee.

“I still don’t understand how it took you so long to check that one off, with how much you enjoy fire,” Techno says, closing his book and placing it gently on the table. He reaches into a pocket inside his shirt, pulling out a crumpled and worn piece of paper and smoothing it out on the table. “And y’know rows don’t matter since we’re going first to blackout.”

The parchment in front of him is relatively new, this idea only implemented recently. A five-by-five grid drawn out in shaky lines, filled with various crimes such as kidnapping, mass homicide, loitering and of course, arson.

(It _is_ surprising, how long it took Phil to burn something down; this last turn was his tenth, yet he put it off. Unusual, since Phil is the reason that the card has both ‘arson’ and ‘arson two’.)

Some of the boxes are marked out with ink, indicating their completion. The top of it is labeled “BOUNTY BINGO”, with a quick “T” scribbled off to the side denoting the paper to be his.

Technoblade taps the middle space, where “KILL GOD” is written out in big letters. “Do y’think I’ll be able to check this one off today?”

His friend laughs. "As much as I'd hope so, mate, I'm also hoping we can save that for last. The grand finale, yeah?" Phil's smile, when Techno looks up, is wicked and full of teeth. He answers with one of his own.

He traces his finger over the page, humming to himself as he thinks. A shadow falls over it; Phil, leaning forwards to examine it.

“Have you even been _trying_ to get any rows or columns, mate?” He asks, gesturing to the inked-out boxes that have no conceivable pattern, fingers ghosting over them. “This is just a mess.”

Techno swats his hand away. “Again, there is no point to doing them in a specific order since we’re not counting those. It’s all or nothing, you know that, alright? But,” he pauses, throwing his friend a dry look, “since you’re so _insistent_ on me completing one, I’ll do this.” He taps a finger against one unmarked box.

Phil snorts when he sees what Techno is referring to. “That’s a boring one, mate.”

“Too late, I’m already doing it. Your fault for insisting on _rows_ and _columns_.” He stands up and stretches, mind racing with what supplies he’ll need to take with him and possible sites of action. “Besides, even if the bounty isn’t high, it’ll still get us the funds.”

* * *

The problem with this game they have created is that there’s only so many times you can commit a crime, have your friend turn you in and claim the bounty, and then break out of the prison before the local population wizens up your schemes. It doesn’t help that they’re easy to remember, easy to point out in a crowd, with Phil’s iconic bucket hat and wings and Techno’s pink hair and red cloak and eyes. Usually the pair are only able to stay in one place for a few months before they’re caught on to and have to leave.

“We might have to move towns again after this,” Phil comments from next to him. They’re perched on top of a cliff overlooking the bustling city below, Phil standing with wings stretched out to feel the breeze and Techno crouching at the edge on the balls of his feet, scanning the streets. This high up, the people walking through the roads look like ants, bustling along in a mass of bodies that hides all individual features.

He turns his gaze to the east side of the town, where the framework for new buildings stands out starkly against the ground still dark with ash. Phil wasn’t lying when he said he burned down an entire block; every building along the road is either a pile of debris, blackened by the flames, or gone entirely. Despite the damage done, the reward for his capture was surprisingly small, hence the need for another, larger crime to be committed.

Techno hums, an acknowledgement to Phil’s words. It’s true; although this city has been more ignorant than others -they’ve been able to stay here for almost a year, a new record- they’ve been increasing the severity of their actions. Even the dumbest guard would notice the pattern eventually.

Feathers rustle next to him as Phil crouches down to his height, following his gaze. “What are you thinking, mate? There are a lot of choices.” He waves a hand outward, encompassing the whole of the city and its many buildings in the movement.

Techno can feel his lips spreading in a wide grin. “Do you see that building, Phil?” He points to the one his gaze is locked on. “The one made of quartz, in the middle.” It’s not difficult to spot, he thinks, with how its white walls reflect the sunlight like a beacon. Even from this distance, he can see guards patrolling along its roof, keeping a careful eye out for any suspicious figures.

And Phil, easily following his train of thought, huffs out a laugh when he spots the structure that might as well be classified as a fortress. “It’s not ‘petty’ if it’s over two hundred, mate.”

“It’s petty if I say it is.”

“That’s not how this works.”

“Oh yeah?” Techno swivels his gaze to meet blue eyes. “Says the one who crossed out ‘marriage fraud’ and replaced it with _filicide_. I don’t even _have_ a kid, Phil!”

“I’ll be honest, Tech, that’s not my problem.” Phil easily dodges the half-hearted punch sent his way, a shit-eating grin on his face. Techno doesn’t understand how people think Phil is some mature, wise-beyond-his-years person, because it doesn’t take longer than five minutes of talking to him before it’s obvious that Phil’s love for chaos is just as great as his own.

~~(He remembers the first time he met Phil. The man came out of nowhere, dropped out of the sky next to him as Technoblade held a blazing torch in his hand. He had looked at Techno’s fingers gripped around the wood, his hand still childlike and young, and at the burning house in front of them, flames bright enough to drive away any monsters that might have spawned in the night.~~

~~He had put a hand on his shoulder, and when Techno looked up, tears in his eyes and blood on his face, showed a smile with too many teeth.~~

_~~“Let it burn down to nothing.”~~ _ ~~)~~

He drags a hand down his face, shoving the memory away and bringing himself back to the present. “The point is, Phil, is that if you can- can completely change one of the cards, I can call this ‘petty.’” He brings his gaze up to the building again, watching the guards patrol. Searching for holes.

A hand claps down on his shoulder, squeezing. The pressure clears off any lingering traces of grief, of rage from the memory. Techno grunts, a wordless thanks. Phil will understand.

He does, from the warm chuckle that comes from him. “You got me there, mate. Now,” and his tone steels with anticipation, words eager. “What’s the plan?”

* * *

The plan is simple: Get in, steal as much as possible, and get out, making sure to take _just enough_ time for the guards to get a good look at him before he runs. They learned their lesson from the first few bingo cards; if they run too quickly, those who come to catch them don’t get a clear enough look to put up a bounty, and all their efforts end up being for nothing.

It’s amusing, if odd, having to intentionally make more noise, move slower, be less cautious. It goes against everything Techno knows, to force himself to be _less_ skilled just so some guards can have a hope of catching him. It’s almost sad, how outclassed they are.

But it is _so_ incredibly useful.

Not that he’s doing anything less than his best currently. No, that is for the end, for the final moments when the guards try to put him in chains only to have Techno slip through their fingers. Right now, he needs nothing less than perfection.

Technoblade stalks through the streets, sticking to the sides to avoid the masses. It’s late evening, and the throng of people finishing up their errands for the day is enough cover for him right now. There’s a hood over his head, patched and worn like those that peasants wear; it hides his pink hair and flopping ears. He’d smeared some dirt on his face, too, to draw any prying gazes away from his red eyes and tusks. The cloak is long enough to reach his ankles, and the incoming chill of night prevents any suspicion from raising of why it is fastened. He can feel his sword, tucked away safely in its scabbard, bounce occasionally against his hip.

From beside him, the empty air speaks. “Have you thought about how, if you rob the main bank of this city, that they won’t have any money left to put up a bounty?” Phil’s voice says. If he squints, Techno can just barely make out the warped air around his friend’s form, the trademark of invisibility potions.

He doesn’t shrug, doesn’t make any indication that he’s speaking to anyone- careful of any eyes that may be watching. His lips part, just enough for him to answer. “This one might be the main one of the city, but there’s no way the king doesn’t have a vault of his own.” He flicks his gaze upwards, to where the castle’s fortifications stand tall above the surrounding buildings. “If I make this big enough, he’ll pay for it himself, if only to get his citizens to calm down.”

The only answer he gets is a hum, but that’s fine. The quiet helps him to focus on what’s coming, helps him get in the right headspace for what he’s about to do. Slowly, the surrounding sounds of people yelling, running, rushing to get home fade into a background hum. The pressure around him becomes stronger; the feeling of gravel roads digging through his boots into his feet, the scratching of wool as the cloak brushes against his wrists, the near-silent breaths and movements of his best friend beside him. Techno takes a deep breath, holds, lets it out. Ready.

He pauses by a bench, sinking down onto it quickly, movements full of exhaustion (The amount of deception put into his disguise is most likely excessive, but he’d rather be overprepared than under). Reaches into his cloak, pulls out a flask and opens it with shaky hands. Waits, until a particularly crowded group passes by his spot, then stands up to join it, drinking its contents as he does.

The movement is fluid, easy with how much he’s practiced it, and between the group passing on one side of the bench to the other he’s disappeared, hidden under the haze of invisibility. It’s easier, now, to travel to the building. He can make a straight shot as opposed to the winding route he took before, and he’s standing by the bright white wall in less than a minute.

Techno turns, searching for the ripple in the air indicating his friend’s presence, but finds none. The panic at that lasts only half a second before he can feel a wing drape itself over him, heavy and grounding. Right. He’s faster on foot than Phil; he just needed a moment to catch up.

“You ready, mate?” comes from the air on his left. “Got your bag? Your sword? Pearls?”

He scoffs, but reaches to check he has said items. “With how much you act like a mother hen, I’m surprised you don’t have chicken wings.”

Invisible as he is, Techno has no way to dodge Phil’s smack to the back of his head. He moves with it, trying not to snort out loud for fear of making noise but shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. He’s sure Phil can feel it from where his wing is still laid across his back.

A hand claps him on the shoulder. “Ten minutes, right?” Phil whispers. The words are a reminder that make him straighten and focus once more.

“Ten minutes,” he confirms, then turns and begins scaling the wall.

* * *

Despite the amount of planning done and preparations for what-ifs and worse case scenarios, the actual heist itself is laughably easy. The guards, while numerous in number, are tired from the long day on their feet and blinded by the setting sun. It’s child’s play for Techno to find a hole in their patrols and slip through an (unlocked, and that’s just pathetic) window, boots not making any noise on the quartz as he does.

Once inside, he spends a minute or so just wandering around the building, getting a feel for the layout. He hasn’t been inside of many banks before -he’d much rather keep his wealth on him instead of trusting it to some random stranger- but the floorplan isn’t incredibly complicated. It doesn’t take him long to find the main vault.

He pauses, taking in the scene before him. An obvious, sturdy iron door at the end of a hallway, guarded by a man on either side. The security of this place is _sad_ , with how bad it is. Really, the way this is laid out, they’re practically _begging_ him to rob them, if only to point out the _massive_ _flaws_ in their design. Honestly, the only way it could be worse for them was if-

Yep, those are keys hanging from the right guard’s belt. He resists the urge to smack a hand to his face. Couldn’t they have made this just a tad more difficult? Techno almost feels guilty for robbing them.

Almost.

That being said, he is on a time limit.

Silently stepping forwards, Techno considers for a moment what to do with the guards. He doesn’t want to draw his sword, doesn’t want to give them the warning that comes with the sound of the blade sliding out of its scabbard. Instead, he steps in between the two, grabs their skulls in either hand and slams them together with a loud _crack!_

He watches as they slump listlessly to the ground, out cold -or dead, but he doesn’t really care- and grabs the ring off the right guard’s belt. It takes a few tries considering the numerous amounts of keys he has to attempt, but eventually the door unlocks. Techno pushes it open, tossing the ring back behind him and not bothering to close the door. He’s past the point where subtlety is needed.

The vault is… extravagant. Blocks of gold, emeralds, and iron are stacked in one corner, each carefully placed on top of the other. Over to the right are chests upon chests, each one open and showing loot and treasure of all kinds. On the back wall, weapons both normal and enchanted hang carefully off the ground. Underneath them are shelves, filled with shining books that mean they have enchantments ready to transfer.

The sheer amount of wealth in the room makes Technoblade pause, not out of surprise, but despair. He can’t help but look to the ceiling and sigh, closing his eyes for a moment.

“This is just _sad_.” All this wealth, all this loot, and they don’t even protect it properly. This city really is wholly unprepared for any sort of conflict, isn’t it?

He allows himself ten seconds of disappointment before shaking it off. He’s here for a reason: to acquire vast sums of wealth and check off a bingo box.

Techno keeps an ear out for any signs of people as he pulls off his cloak, revealing a small satchel hidden underneath it. The cloak he drops to the ground -it’s served its purpose- and uses his other hand to rummage in the bag, pulling out the one item he stored in it.

The ender chest in his hand glows dimly, faint purple particles emitting from it. If he strains his ears, he can almost imagine hearing a humming sound coming from the magic inside of it.

The chest is useless in its current form, only as big as the palm of his hand. Technoblade places it down on the floor, then swipes a hand over the eye in the front and takes a step back.

Instantly, the enchantment activates and the chest grows to its full size, its glow increasing in intensity. Normally, ender chests remain the same size no matter what, which makes them unable to be hauled around in day-to-day life. For this reason, they were most often seen in high traffic, well-protected places to allow people to access them when necessary. However, Techno had long ago grown tired of the inconvenience and worked with Phil for a solid month to craft a recipe for more mobile ender chests.

It was only a small tweak, to modify the chest’s magic to encompass its exterior size, using the same enchantment that makes the interior bigger than it appears. While shrunken, it can’t be opened, and must be placed and expanded in order to be used, but the benefits of being able to carry his own pocket dimension is worth the slight delay in accessing it.

Techno had completely emptied out the chest earlier in preparation for this, and now takes full advantage of the clear inventory. He grabs block after block of gold, iron, emerald -no diamonds, surprisingly, but there are singles in stacks- and places them at the mouth of the chest, watching as the magic pulls them into the black depths of the chest. Once he’s satisfied with the amount looted, he turns towards the glowing books on the back wall, practiced eyes scanning the runes for anything useful.

 _Flame, Infinity, Looting II, Protection III, Unbreaking II-_ all standard enchantments that he can get fairly easily, not worth using up precious space in the chest. He continues scanning. _Bane of Arthropods, Feather Falling I, Blast Protection-_ there. _Mending. Soul Speed. Thorns III._ He grabs those, and any other more useful ones he spots nearby. Something about the magic bound in the books makes them unable to stack easily; the chest will fill up quickly if he takes too many, so after the eighth one he stops and examines the weapons.

There’s a multitude of them, all sorts of variations. Longbows, recurves, hunting bows, crossbows, not to mention swords and axes of many styles and makes, both two-handed and one. Some glow with enchantments, others are plain and bare, but none stick out enough for Techno to care about taking them.

Then he spots it. Slightly hidden behind a semi-battered shield, a trident sits against the wall. He wastes no time in pulling it off it’s rack and examining it. It’s bare, empty of any runes or enchantments, but that’s fine; he can do it himself. He’s been needing a new trident, anyways, since the last one was left behind two towns ago.

Techno tucks the trident safely away in the ender chest, then pauses at a noise further away. Footsteps, the clanking of armor, and panicked shouts. Seems like his entrance has been noticed. He frowns, doing some mental math. His invisibility potion ran out just under a minute ago, which means he’s been inside the building for at least seven minutes. Did it really take them that long to notice something was wrong? The security here must be incredibly incompetent.

It also leaves him with very little time to be seen. That won’t do; he needs the bounty money. How can Techno (and Phil) become incredibly rich without it?

Well, there’s nothing wrong with giving them a clue. Techno grabs a nearby iron ingot, hefts it for a moment, then chucks it at the door. The iron against iron results in a ringing _clang_ , loud enough that those running around outside must have heard it.

It works. Techno can hear a faint shout of “Over here!” and the sound of clanging footsteps slowly getting louder. He hums, satisfied, and turns to finish placing items in the ender chest.

He’s just finished putting away the final block of gold when he spots a figure out of the corner of his eye. They barrel through the doorway, sword drawn. They barely slow when they see the bodies of the comrades; he can see them physically shake it off to focus on him. Technoblade can respect that dedication.

“Thief!” the guard cries, then pauses when their eyes scan across the mostly empty room. Techno had been able to loot most of it. Only the weapons, some books, and a few individual pieces of gems remain.

He takes the moment of hesitation to pull his red cloak from the ender chest, close the lid, and shrink it once more. The chest is slipped into his satchel, safe from being stolen. The cloak he swings over his shoulders in one fluid movement, clasping it calmly as the guard in front of him shakes themselves out of their shock.

More figures are arriving, each wearing armor -chain or iron, nothing more- and brandishing their weapons threateningly. Techno laughs, pulling out his sword. The netherite blade gleams with power, the enchantments etched into it giving it a rippling glow.

“You think you can take _me_?” he challenges. The group of guards -six now, all having to squeeze themselves into the relatively small vault- heft their weapons when he flourishes his sword. An entirely unnecessary act, but he has a part to play.

(In the back of his mind, he counts. _Three_.)

The guards don’t bother answering him, simply charging him all at once. Technoblade feels a wicked grin grow on his face as he fights, his blood pumping a familiar rhythm.

 _Blood_ -

He parries one sword but isn’t able to push his advantage; the sound of a blade cutting through air forces him to step to the side, barely avoiding being cleaved by an axe. The man holding it, unprepared for the lack of contact, grunts and stumbles forwards- right into where Techno is. He wastes no time in grabbing the man by the neck, twisting both of them to the right. A diamond sword meant to stab Techno in the kidney gets driven through the guard’s stomach instead. One down.

_Blood for the Blood God-_

He places his unarmed hand on the pommel of the sword, using the other to push the impaled guard off the blade and onto the ground while pulling the diamond sword -and its wielder- closer to him. The guard holding it, staring shocked at the comrade he just unintentionally killed, doesn’t resist as Techno uses his grip to pull him forwards. He plunges his own blade into the guard’s chest, twists. Two down.

_Blood for the Blood God Blood-_

Techno plants his foot against the body on his sword and practically kicks it off, hearing a yelp as it collides with a figure further back. Again, he’s unable to press on and use the weakness, instead forced to block a heavy two-handed sword with his own. He grits his teeth, places his off hand on the flat of his blade, and _heaves_ his opponent away. They take a step back but slip on the growing pool of blood on the ground and crash to their back. Techno takes the chance, pushes their rising form back against the stone with a boot to the chest, and stabs down. They twitch once, twice, then still. That’s three.

_Blood for the Blood God Blood for the Blood God-_

(The timer ticks down. _Two._ )

There’s a pause in the battle, a moment of relative peace. Techno slides his gaze to the remaining three figures, teeth bared and hair in disarray. He can feel the blood coating his hands, his torso, splattered on his face. He’s not sure if that is what makes them step back, or if it’s the way he twirls his sword as he walks forwards.

It’s a shame that they’re fighting him, Technoblade thinks. Even without armor, with only a sword and no potions or gapples, they’re horribly outmatched against him.

Techno locks gazes with the man in the middle. He seems to be the highest commanding of this little bunch, grizzled and scarred and holding his stare without flinching.

“Y’know, I thought robbing this place would be _difficult,_ ” Techno says, and grins wider when one of the guards starts at his words. “Massive amounts of guards outside, the building in an open and central part of the city, the fact that this place should be on _high alert_ from the amount of crimes lately-“ he _tsks_ , shaking his head in disappointment. “It’s almost like you guys were _begging_ to be robbed.”

(Tick, tock. _One._ )

One of the guards, the one to the left of the senior, surges forwards. They’re pulled back by the older man before they can get within range of Technoblade’s sword, but they don’t seem to care. A crazed look gleams in their eyes, a snarl painted on their face. Techno answers with one of his own.

“You _bastard_!” they shriek, pointing an iron sword at his face. Techno doesn’t move, simply stands still and watches as they scream. “You _killed_ James, and Nick, and- and Shay! You’re-“ they lunge once more, only to jerk back into place as the hand on their arm pulls them away from him.

The senior takes a half step forwards, putting the younger two slightly behind himself and brandishing his axe. “You are going to come with us,” he commands. “You will be put on trial, and when you are found guilty of your crimes, you will hang for them.” He gestures to the open door behind him, where Techno can see more figures entering the hallway. “Reinforcements are here. If you come quietly, I can promise that your death will be quick and painless.”

Techno hums, tossing his sword idly from hand to hand. “I’ll be honest, that sounds tempting.” He flicks blood off the blade and sheathes it at his side. The man sighs and takes a step forwards, only to halt at “-but, you’re missing something crucial.”

The grin on his face is so wide it hurts, and his head rings with _BloodBloodBloodfortheBloodGod._

_“Technoblade never dies.”_

_(Zero.)_

A hook in his sternum, pulling him instantly away from the crowded, bloody vault. He has half a second to see the guard’s horrified expression before he’s gone, his laughter ringing in their air.

* * *

Cold water shocks his system; it’s only out of experience and sheer force of will that he doesn’t take a reflex breath. For a moment, Technoblade can’t tell what is up and what is down.

Then the moment passes, and there are gentle bubbles pushing him to the surface. The air, once he breaks through, is not much warmer than the water. Techno takes a deep breath and shoves away the feeling of vertigo with vigor.

“All good, mate?” Phil asks. Techno looks up, to where his longtime friend is crouched next to the edge of the stasis chamber, trapdoor in his grip. He offers a hand up.

Techno takes it, heaving himself out of the water and giving a full-body shake. Using an ender pearl in a stasis chamber is unpleasant, but so incredibly useful. He can deal with the chills and the damp clothes.

Phil throws a towel on top of his head. Techno scowls but starts to scrub at his hair as the two walk towards their house. It’s a simple structure -as simple as one can get, with Philza as its architect- with a few rooms, a small attic, and a much larger basement that expands to an underground storage and tunnel system. Techno insisted on having it; they never know when they need to make a quick escape, and the tunnels are easy to collapse behind them to deter pursuers.

As they plod along the dirt path to their home, Techno regales Phil with the details of his heist.

“-the main vault wasn’t even hidden, Phil! It was just- just _there!_ In the middle of the bank! With two guards standing on either side of it! That’s- that’s the most _obvious_ thing you can do!” Techno’s voice climbs in pitch as he speaks. He still can’t get over the _incredibly pathetic_ security measures of the building.

“That sounds amazing, mate. Bad on their end, but whatever. Good for us, yeah?” Phil says easily, obviously not as heated about the matter as Techno is. That’s fine. Techno has always been the one to get more riled up about things like this. Phil doesn’t usually care unless it directly harms him or things he cares about. “But, if it was as bad as you say, does that mean it wasn’t the main bank?” He opens the door to the house, holding it for Techno to walk through.

Techno shakes his head so hard his still-damp hair whips him in the face. “That’s the thing, Phil. _It was._ It was their main bank! It had so much good loot in it! I got an _entire stack_ of iron and gold _blocks_ , not to mention diamonds, and- and weapons, and enchanted books!”

And now Phil pauses in his movements, hands stilling from the motions of pulling off his cloak and shoes. “You’re serious, mate,” he deadpans, sounding as if he can’t believe his ears.

Technoblade can barely believe it too, and _he was there._ “Would I lie to you, Phil?”

Phil sucks in a breath. “Ooookay then. Whelp,” he barks out a laugh, “they better put a huge bounty on you then.”

“One can only hope,” Techno replies, and puts his head in his hands and despairs.

* * *

Surprisingly, despite the incompetence the city has been showing in the past, it only takes them a day to put up wanted posters, and by the day after that there’s a hard number as a reward for bringing him in. Technoblade steals one of those on an invisible trip to scout, tucking it into a pocket to examine when he gets back to the house.

_WANTED: ALIVE for MASS ROBBERY and the murder of three: TECHNOBLADE_

The reward printed under it is enough to raise his brows. Phil lets out a whistle when Techno shows it to him.

“Damn, mate,” is all he says. “You really pissed them off.”

“That was kinda the point.” Techno carefully folds the poster and tucks it away in his notebook, where past wanted flyers and his bingo sheet are stored. He’s already marked off “petty theft” on the sheet, despite Phil’s protests.

_(“Again, it’s not petty if it’s that much money!”_

_“Phil, I really could not care less. I’m crossing it out.”)_

A bowl is set down in front of him; rabbit stew, still steaming. Techno looks up at Phil, who sits across from him with his own bowl clutched in his hands. He nods a thanks, picking up his spoon and taking a large bite.

He pauses, then looks once more at Phil, who is very obviously not looking at him.

“Phil.” No response. “Phil. Philza.” His friend flicks his gaze to him, mouth pressed together.

Techno points at the bowl. “Philza Minecraft, tell me you did not put _worms_ in the stew.”

And Phil, the absolute troll that he is, bursts out laughing. He fumbles with his bowl before placing it down on the table, clutching his stomach as he laughs so hard he shakes and almost falls out of his chair.

“I can’t- I can’t _breathe_ ,” he wheezes, slamming a fist on the table. Techno patiently waits for the man to tire himself out. It takes longer than he’d expect, because every time Phil seems to collect himself, he looks up at Techno -still holding the bowl in one hand and pointing to it with the other- and breaks down again.

All in all, maybe ten minutes pass before Phil recovers enough to sit up straight, still chuckling occasionally, to wipe tears from his eyes. “Aw, man, my stomach hurts,” he says, voice tight.

“I wonder why,” Techno deadpans. A thought crosses his mind. He waits until his friend makes eye contact with him, then lifts the bowl up to his mouth. Without ever breaking his gaze away from the blue of Phil’s, Technoblade chugs the entire remaining stew out of the bowl in one go.

It’s enough to send Phil into a fit of giggles again. Techno finds he’s not patient enough to wait for him to finish, instead cutting in to ask a simple, “Why?”

Phil points an accusing finger at him. “Re- revenge,” he says through his laughter. “For putting _dirt_ in my sandwich last week.”

Okay, that’s just not fair. “Dirt is good for you,” Techno counters, eyes narrow. “It’s a good source of iron.”

“So’s _meat_!” Phil smacks a hand on the table. “And I don’t know what’s up with your weird stomach, mate, but normal people can’t digest dirt.”

Techno stands and goes to wash up his bowl in the sink, not bothering to reply to that verbally. Phil is just weak, he thinks. A little grit in his meals won’t hurt him. Techno resolves to sneak some into his food the next time he makes dinner.

“Back to the matter at hand,” he says, finishing cleaning the bowl and spoon and setting them to the side to dry, shaking water from his hands. “What’s the plan for claiming the bounty?”

Phil glares at him, jabbing a finger against the grain of the table. “This isn’t over, mate,” he warns, but then sighs and leans back into the chair, his own bowl in hand. “We could do the standard turn in, have you break the walls on the way out. I checked out their prison the other day. Their cells are metal, but they’re so old and worn that they’d probably be taken down by a sneeze.”

Techno hums, tapping a finger against the counter as he thinks. He didn’t go to investigate their holding cells or the locations where they hold their trials- that was Phil’s job, this time. If Phil is implying he could pull the bars apart with his bare hands, he’s probably right. But…

“Or,” he says, finger stilling on the wood, “I could wait until the execution and escape right before they ‘kill’ me,” he finger quotes ‘kill’, because honestly, that’s not something they’ll be able to do. But they can _try_.

His friend squints at him, wings rustling in the way that means he’s debating on if he wants to smack Techno over the head with them. Techno takes a few steps away, out of range. Just in case.

“You want to give them false hope? A chance at possibly killing you, just to run away at the last second?” He sounds suspicious, but thoughtful.

Techno shrugs. “It would be funny.”

A pause. “It _would_ be funny.” Another beat, then Phil shrugs. “Well, mate, it’s your head on the line, not mine. If you want to do that, go ahead.”

Techno claps his hands together, a smirk forming on his face. “Then let’s get to planning.”

* * *

The routine of turning each other in is familiar, after how many times they’ve done it. A little bit of disguise and tonal changes for the ‘hunter,’ streaks of blood and a few scratches on the ‘prey,’ some rope tied around his wrists and they’re ready to go.

Techno stalks through the streets of the city, hands tied -not loosely, that would be too obvious, but not in a way that makes them impossible to escape either- behind his back and a dagger pressing against the nape of his neck. He doesn’t turn, doesn’t flick his eyes around the streets at the pedestrians staring at him in alternating glee and horror.

He knows he must look beaten up, without his cloak or crown, blood smeared on almost every bit of exposed skin and clothes torn up and streaked with dirt. Still, he doesn’t let his head fall, doesn’t let his gaze drop to the ground as they march through the roads towards the building he assumes is the prison.

Phil was right when he described it as run down. Obviously this city doesn’t experience a lot, if any crime, based on their slowness to act against their previous bingo events, the slowness in response of the guards when Techno robbed the bank, and the state of the prison.

Its walls aren’t blackstone, like most other cities’ are. Instead they’re stone bricks. Many of them are chipped or beginning to have moss grow on the sides of them. The guards on top of the walls and at the main gates look drowsy, unalert- at least until they see his approaching figure and straighten. One of the ones up on the walls above yells something down towards the inside. Probably informing the warden of his arrival.

Techno halts at the front of the gates, a few feet from the guards standing on either side of it. From the way they stiffen and their hands twitch to their weapons, they recognize him. Good; he’d be disappointed if they didn’t. The pressure at the back of his neck doesn’t let up.

There’s the sound of shouts from the other side, the slowly the heavy reinforced gate groans open. A figure on the other side, sword at their hip but otherwise without any other weapons or armor, strides over as soon as it reaches the peak.

Techno blinks as they get closer to him and he can distinguish their features; a woman, and a wolf hybrid at that. He didn’t think this primitive, sheltered city would be one to have a hybrid woman hold such a high place of power. Normally places like this are incredibly discriminatory.

Huh. Point in favor for this place. The first one they’ve gotten.

The woman stops a few feet in front of him, hand on the sword at her waist. Not threatening, just ready. She flicks her eyes over Techno -assessing his condition, most likely- then dismisses him and turns to face Phil standing to the right and behind him.

“You actually got him,” she says, voice even. It’s deeper and rougher than one would expect for a woman, but Techno grew up around piglins, who often spoke in timbers lower than he did. “I did not expect anyone to be successful, considering his reputation.” Her gaze switches to his for a moment, then back. “Honestly, I thought he would be long gone by now.”

Techno can’t see it, but he knows that Phil shrugs. “’s not that hard ta’ find him, if ya know what you’re lookin’ for.” Phil isn’t great at changing the way his voice sounds, not like Techno is, but the difference from his normal speech pattern is enough to dissuade any similarities.

The woman hums, considering, then nods. “A testament to your skill, then,” is all she says, turning to walk past the gate. “Bring him in.”

There’s a nudge at his neck, a shove against his back, and Techno grunts at the impact but moves forward without saying anything. There is a brief moment of chill as they walk through the shadow of the walls, but it’s over quick enough when they reach the other side. Techno takes the chance to survey his surroundings.

The area is open, and large, with a blackstone building in the middle of the clearing, presumably where the cells are. Clever; even if he were to escape his cell, running from the building to the walls would take him a few seconds at a full sprint. Plenty of time to spot an escaping prisoner.

It’s to this building that the woman leads them into, unlocking the heavy iron door with a key around her neck and holding it open for the two to walk through.

The inside is simple. Utilitarian. An open room with chairs scattered around. A door on the left side, wooden, presumably leads to an office. The iron one on the other most likely heads to the cells.

Techno idly wonders how Phil managed to sneak in here earlier. Using invis pots, most likely.

It’s through the wooden door that the woman leads the pair. Behind it is an office, messy with papers but in a controlled manner, bookshelves on the back wall, a dark oak desk and chair in front of it facing the front. On the desk resides a nameplate with the title “Warden” under it. A locked ender chest is placed to the right, particles and glow muted.

The warden sits in the chair behind the desk, rummaging through drawers with one hand. Phil and Techno stand; there are no chairs for them to take.

From the drawer emerges a familiar paper, clutched in her hand- Techno’s poster. She hums wordlessly, scanning over the page. After a moment, she places the poster down and stands, striding over to the ender chest in two steps. The chest thrums when it opens, a pit of blackness where the storage would normally be. Techno watches as she reaches in, hand vanishing into the darkness to return with a sack clutched in her fingers.

The bag clinks as she hands it to Phil, unseen gems and coins clattering together inside the rough hewn material. His friend takes it, opening and counting the money inside. He seems satisfied with the amount, because he nods and tucks the pouch into a pocket on the inside of his cloak. A tradeoff commences, with Technoblade shuffled to the woman’s side, who takes his bound wrists in one hand and summons a dagger to hold to his neck with the other.

(And- oh. _Oh._ This just became much more interesting.

Being able to summon a weapon implies that the wielder is dedicated, is _persistent_. The process of imbuing a sword, axe, dagger, whatever is a long and arduous procedure. The enchantments alone required for it are enough to deter the average population into sticking with the standard.

Beyond the basic physical requirements, there is also a _soul_ aspect needed. Every weapon that can be summoned has a Name, and with the Name comes a tether to its wielder’s soul, so that it may be called whenever -and wherever- it is needed. After enough time, the weapons also develop a sort of pseudo-consciousness and _opinions_ about those around it.

And most of all, one will never be unarmed with a Named weapon.

It is daunting, terrifying, to most. Very few ever go through the process to forge a blade through magic and fire and make it their own. Those that do are always a worthy opponent.

Technoblade wonders if he’ll get a chance to cross blades with the woman.)

Phil shuffles across from him, sniffs. “Well, if ya got nothin’ else to say ta’ me, I’ll get goin’.” He locks eyes with Techno, tilts his head slightly. An unspoken question. _You will be fine?_

Techno breathes out in a huff, blinks slowly. _Don’t worry, I know what I’m doing. Take care._

The woman -the warden- holding his binds confirms. Phil nods to her, but his eyes are still on Techno. _Good._

He watches as his friend turns and leaves the room, door shutting softly behind him.

Step one complete.

* * *

The cell he is kept in for the next few days is -simple, in a word. Clean, which is nice; he’s stayed in many before where hygiene seemed to be their last concern. This one is dusty, which points again to the peaceful circumstances of the town, but not disgusting.

He spends his time sitting on the cot, back to the wall and eyes on the bars in front of him. He doesn’t move, doesn’t lay down, doesn’t speak or respond to his guards in anything more than grunts. Techno’s fingers itch to summon his sword. He’s not used to a sedentary lifestyle. Not to say that he never rests -Phil never lets him get to that point, always forcing him to take a break, to eat and sleep when he focuses too hard on a project and forgets to take care of himself.

But even on lazy days, when there’s no battles to fight or builds to work on, there’s always something to do, animals to feed, sword forms to practice, chores to complete. He has a way to keep himself busy, an outlet for the seemingly endless buzz in his bones that begs for a release.

On the morning of his third day in the cell, Techno is awoken by footsteps in the hallway. He doesn’t change his breathing or his position -sitting up on the cot and leaning against the wall- but he turns his attention to the sound. His internal clock tells him it’s early; much earlier than anyone has come before to give him his breakfast.

Ah. It must be time.

Techno waits for the steps to come closer and pause outside his cell, then opens his eyes. He locks gazes with the guard on the other side, their arm raised to clang loudly against the bars. The man startles when he sees that Techno is awake and curses.

“Damn devil,” he snarls, slamming his armored gauntlet against the steel bars with a loud _clang!_

He can feel his eyebrow raise in curiosity. This town has been… surprisingly ignorant about Technoblade’s reputation in the past; does this guard know of him? Or-

Oh. It must be because of his eyes and teeth and ears. Strange; he thought the presence of the warden would mean that this town was less bigoted against hybrids. Seems he was wrong.

Techno peels back his lips in a mimicry of a smile, rising from the cot in a smooth motion and ignoring the pins-and-needles feeling that comes from staying in one position for too long. He takes one step, two, three and stands in front of the guard, the only thing separating the two being the rusted steel bars of the cell.

He can’t resist the urge to raise himself up a little higher, pitch his voice a little deeper when he says, “Time to go?”

The guard growls a wordless answer, clearly angered by Techno’s nonchalance at the situation. The man takes a breath, then lets it out. “Yes.”

Techno shifts backwards, just a bit out of his space. He ignores how it makes the man’s shoulders loosen a bit, choosing to instead look at the other two figures making their way down the hall. They’re holding shackles and chains, faces grim.

He remains silent throughout the whole process of chaining his hands and feet, staying loose and relaxed. It’s amusing, how the guards are tense and wary despite the fact that he’s been calm and compliant the entire time he’s been locked in the cell.

He tests the shackles on his wrists once they’re attached; they’re iron, recently polished and cleaned to avoid rust. The pair on his ankles have just enough slack on the chain between the two to allow him to shuffle, but not take any large steps. They’re strong, too strong for him to break at this angle. He’ll have to find another way to escape, then.

They lead him through the underground halls, winding between empty cells and closed-off rooms before taking him up the stairs he first traveled down, three days ago. At the top, he sees the warden. She stares at him wordlessly as he climbs up, then unlocks the iron door to lead him out of the main building.

The sunlight is harsh and bright after days underground, even as weak as it is, pre-dawn. Techno squints, shaking his head slightly at the headache that threatens to form.

The group travels in silence out the gates of the prison and into the main streets. Another pair of guards peels off from their posts in the wall to flank him as they walk. Technoblade keeps his head up while they travel, two guards on either side of him, one behind, and the warden leading the way in the front.

Their path is long and winding, taking up most of the morning. The location they’re traveling to is on the other side of town; Techno recognizes some of the buildings from his scouting.

By the time they come to an open square, a recently built raised stage at the center of it, it’s midmorning. Their journey had garnered a lot of attention- a crowd is slowly tracing their steps, following them into the square and spreading out to stand on the cobbled stones that pave the ground.

Techno looks up at the stage. The oak wood planks are new and clean -this town doesn’t seem to have a need for an execution stage often, by the looks of it.

And that is what the structure is: a place to kill him. Even from the awkward angle he has to crane his neck at, he can see the shape of a block at the center of the stage. He sighs, wondering if he’ll even get a semblance of a trial. He doesn’t think so.

Two of the guards peel off from their places at his sides as they approach, going to stand at either end of the stage. To keep the crowd from swarming it, he presumes. The other three continue to walk with him, pushing him to climb the stairs when he hesitates.

They move him to stand behind the chopping block, facing out to the sea of faces filling the square. The warden plants herself at the side of the stage, pulling out a paper and beginning to read off of it.

Oh. Seems he is getting a trail. Or a chance to defend himself, at least. It doesn’t matter.

He shifts his weight, getting a feel for the strength of the boards under him. They hold firm. There goes that plan.

Technoblade remains silent as the warden speaks, only keeping the bare minimum of attention to her words as he scans his surroundings. There are a decent amount of escape routes he can take, once he gets free of the shackles. As long as he can snap those, he’ll be able to lose any pursuers in the chase.

A glint in the corner of his eye catches his attention. Techno follows it, peering past the civilians gawking at him and up, to the top of a building across the square. It takes a moment, but he spots a flash of green behind a wall on one of the rooftops. Philza.

Techno tilts his head, letting his hair fall behind his shoulder and flicking his ear in a pattern. The gleam flashes back. He resists the urge to smirk.

“-the accused now has a chance to defend himself. What do you say to the charges placed on you?” the warden asks, lowering her paper and staring at him with a flat expression.

He shifts his weight again, watches how it makes the guards posted around him tense. “I suppose that ‘not guilty’ isn’t an option?”

One of the guards steps forwards, holding out a hand as if to hit him. He’s stopped by a curt “Halt!” from the warden. Techno tilts his head at her.

She doesn’t smile, doesn’t change her expression. “It is, but only if you have evidence to prove your innocence.”

He shrugs, keeping silent. She waits for a moment, two, then nods curtly. “If the accused has no evidence to defend himself, then I hereby declare him guilty. The price to pay is death.”

There’s a collective gasp from the ground, then a wave of muttering. Clearly, public executions aren’t common here.

The warden makes a motion with the hand not holding the paper. Techno watches as one of the guards strides forwards, newly acquired axe in hand. It gleams with the light of enchantments, but he can’t make out the runes from where he’s standing.

“Kneel,” the man commands, “and lay your head on the block.”

Techno ignores him, looking up to the rooftop across the way. He flicks his ear. Sees the replying flash.

“ _Kneel_ , criminal.”

And he must have really got on the man’s last nerve, because he slices his hand sharply through the air and there’s a kick to the back of his knees. Techno grunts as his legs give to the pressure and he falls, knees slamming painfully on the wood planks.

The person behind him doesn’t wait for him to lean forwards; instead, a foot plants itself between his shoulder blades and slams his skull onto the block. Techno is forced to turn his head at the last minute to avoid a broken nose.

“Any last words?” the warden asks, tone dry and unflinching.

“Actually, yeah.” He locks eyes with the wolf hybrid, bares his teeth at her in a mockery of a smile.

“ _Blood for the Blood God_.”

A sharp pain in his back, right below his shoulder blade. The foot pinning him down jerks back.

Cold rushes through his veins, a foreign source of adrenaline yet still familiar. _Strength_.

Technoblade surges to his feet, slamming his head backwards as he rises. A loud _crack!_ and the feeling of skull against skull tells him he hit his target.

His hands are shackled in the front; a mistake on their part.

He takes a moment to place one foot up on the block his head was resting on. The chains running between his feet scrape against the sharp edge. Techno pulls it taught, then slams the his shackled wrists on the chain once, twice, thrice-

On the fourth impact, the metal is dented enough on both the wrist cuffs and the chain that he can break them with Strength. He kicks out his right foot; the chain snaps cleanly, one end whipping out to the side to strike an approaching guard. They flinch backwards.

Huh. He didn’t mean to do that. Nice.

Now for his hands. He braces -this is going to hurt- and tenses the muscles in his arms. He twists his wrists out, pushing against the iron, ignoring the spikes of pain until the metal gives and snaps open.

Techno ignores the blood and blisters on his hand, the trickle of warmth down his shoulder, the pain in the side of his skull from where it was slammed into the block. Instead, he summons his sword and cleaves it through an approaching guard in one smooth motion.

Technoblade laughs, loud and long, at the chaos and screams surrounding him. The throng of people on the ground shifts, looking like a disturbed ant pile. “WE LEAVE!” he cries, and jumps into the crowd.

The swarm of bodies push and prod against him, but he’s navigated battlefields worse than this. He finds a path and takes it, twisting and diving through gaps in between people until he’s out of the square and into a side street.

He bolts past confused bystanders, sword in hand, turning left down one street, right down another, left, left, right, left, right, right-

A flap of wings sounds from above him, the sound of feathers cutting through the air, and suddenly Phil is in front of him, wings spread out in his landing.

“You were right, mate,” he announces, tossing Techno a pouch. He catches it, opening it to see it’s full of ender pearls. “That _was_ funny.”

“Did you see their _faces_?” Techno asks, taking a pearl and throwing it.

He has to wait a moment for the response, the ender pearl jerking him away from his place in the town to beyond the walls. Techno plants his feet in grass and takes a breath of fresh air. A second later, Phil appears next to him.

“That might be one of the best breakouts yet,” his friend says. He turns and leads them east, to where their temporary base is. They’ll have to leave after this, but that’s fine. They got what they wanted.

Techno hums. “You’ll have to put in a lot of effort to top that.” Phil nods, clearly thinking of his next turn. Techno watches his expression from the corner of his eye, and he can see when Phil makes a decision- his eyes gleam, his wings furling. “Which one will you do next?”

Phil turns, a smile on his face and chaos behind his eyes.

“How many war crimes do you think the next place will allow?”

**Author's Note:**

> I rarely write with an outline, instead letting my muse run away with me, so for a long time I didn't know how Techno was going to escape the prison. And then my brain yelled at me "PHIL SHOOTS HIM WITH A STRENGTH ARROW, HE BREAKS THE SHACKLES AND RUNS LMAO" so that's been at the bottom of my word document for a while.
> 
> And yes, I have genuinely made the actual bingo sheet that they use, with the gracious help of the other Chasing Stardust members for ideas on what each slot contains.


End file.
